


cowboy like me

by dirty_holy_things



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Hook-Up, One Night Stands, One Shot, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28826643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirty_holy_things/pseuds/dirty_holy_things
Summary: “You're a bandit like me, eyes full of stars, hustling for the good life.Never thought I'd meet you here; it could be love.We could be the way forward, andI know I'll pay for it.And the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to mess this up,And the old men that I've swindled really did believe I was the one.And the ladies lunching have their stories about when you passed through town;But that was all before I locked it down.Now you hang from my lips, like the Gardens of Babylon;With your boots beneath my bed, forever is the sweetest con.”
Relationships: Jack | Whiskey (Kingsman)/Reader, Jack | Whiskey (Kingsman)/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	1. tennessee whiskey

_“Used to spend my nights out in a barroom,_   
_Liquor was the only love I've known._   
_But you rescued me from reachin' for the bottom,_   
_And brought me back from being too far gone._

_You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey,_   
_You're as sweet as strawberry wine._   
_You're as warm as a glass of brandy,_   
_And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time.”_

  
You tossed back the last of your Old Forester, the taste of the now-watered down bourbon burning a clean line down the back of your throat and into your stomach. You felt the heat of the alcohol spread down your spine and hit your center, before beginning to spread outwards, tendrils of steady fire curling through you to reach the more remote parts; you felt the familiar tingle of intoxication in your fingertips, in your thighs, and in your lips. The glass landed solidly on the sticky bar top, your hands gripping tightly around it instinctively as your other hand shot up from your side to alert the bartender to your unfortunately, now-empty grasp.

The dark haired man sauntered your way with a kind smile, the two of you having grown familiar during your recent nights spent in this lonesome bar. The bar was an unfortunate side of the road thing, attracting the absolute worst and least respectable patrons; but the owner had taken a somewhat concerning liking to you, and let you sing here on weekends without having to pay a cover. You jumped at the opportunity for profit, and diligently saved each penny that you brought in; giving up many daily comforts was worth it, in your mind, as you were surely only a few short steps away from fame and fortune. This bar dealing was just one of the last stepping stones along the way. And itt was better than you had hoped for as a struggling musician, knowing the many nights that you had spent living out of your car before the bartender had generously offered a space on his couch. The shitty dive bar deal was also marginally improved by your bartender friend, who let you drink for free and wrote off your tab to the various men who hit on you throughout your weekend sets.

You liked to think of yourself as a true musician, living a life on the road with little to your name except your guitar and your fringed denim jacket; but the years of insistent touring and traveling had worn on you, progressively wearing your body into something thin and desperate, as you managed to eke a living off of the kindness of strangers, and the nutrition of American Spirits and top-shelf bourbon. If you were pressed, you likely couldn’t recount the exact journey that had led you here to... where were you? Nevada? It was some unfortunate part of the state that wasn’t Vegas, you knew at least that much. But the bartender was nice, and didn’t expect you to fuck him, so you’d count your blessings where they landed. But you were getting close to leaving this behind — you could sense your break was coming, could taste the promise of it on your tongue.

Sitting back into the creaking barstool, aged well past its prime, you waited for your friend to refill your glass; you eyeballed him closely to make sure he didn’t pull anything sneaky, as your intuition had been proven wrong before. Had to keep your guard up; it was the responsible thing to do. You watched the thickly muscled man reach upwards to grab the bottle from the higher shelf, before twirling it in his hands to pour into your ice-filled glass; he topped it off with a splash of water before sending the drink sailing across the bar top and into your waiting hand.

You admired the way that the bourbon swirled within the glass, the dim lighting of the bar illuminating the gold tone of the beverage that had landed within your grasp. You took a strong sip from the cloudy faux crystal, enjoying the notes of fire and velvet on your tongue, appreciating the aroma of vanilla that filled your nose. Setting the glass down onto the coaster before you, you heard the rarely-heard sound of the bell above the door ringing, altering the patrons of the bar to a stranger’s unplanned arrival.

The unexpected gentleman sauntered into the bar with a staggering confidence that threatened to shake the foundations of the establishment, his hips projecting forward from the rest of his body, the ease with which they swayed indicating a sensuality that you wouldn’t have otherwise known. Your eyes traveled upwards from the waist of the confident man, to see an equally-confident smile that resided on a simultaneously chiseled and weathered face. You observed the squared jaw, the strong nose, the expressive brows; he was undeniably handsome, in a contradictory way; he was both polished and rugged, appearing well-bred and yet incredibly reckless in his nature. His black suede jacket absorbed the dim lights of the bar, but his shining black ostrich-skin boots reflected enough light for his entire ensemble; and yet the silver of his belt buckle caught your eye, before pulling your attention to both the pistol and the whip that were attached to him.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as you watched the man casually stride forward into the bar, and you were not the only one watching — all eyes were trained on him, following his slow stepped journey to come and sit next to you; you smelled something unmistakably familiar, the scent of leather and gunpowder, and you felt yourself lean towards him instinctively at this display of sexuality and masculinity.

Feeling brave, being here in a familiar scene, you raised your glass in his direction, the bourbon swishing gently around the ice cubes within the glass. “Howdy, stranger,” You said with a playful smile, knowing full well that this intro was overplayed and simplistic; but when you saw a grin teasing its way across the man’s lips, you felt your confidence rise.

“What’s a girl like you, doing in a place like this?” The man asked, a teasing note to his voice indicating that he had picked up on your simple and common line, and was following up withequally pedestrian commentary.

“Could ask the same of you.” You responded, an eyebrow raising slightly as you eyed the man before you. Attractive; tall dark and handsome; old enough to know what he’s doing. You were no stranger to love on this lonesome road, having fallen into bed with many a man who offered shallow promises of fame and fortune; but through your experiences, you had at least been able to progressively differentiate between who was a decent lay, and who wasn’t worth the free drinks and smokes. Your gut was leaning towards the first option, having noticed the way that his pants fit tightly around him; but you had a bit more to gauge, more to assess for, before making your move. You had wasted enough nights in these small towns with smaller men, and at this point you weren’t particularly intrigued by an evening of disappointment. 

The man laughed at your comment, before moving to wave down your friend who was bartending. You rolled your eyes playfully, knowing full well that he was still watching you; you procured a cigarette from your inner jacket pocket, bringing it to rest between your plush and red-stained lips. “Happen to have a light?” You asked, continuing to hold the cigarette in your mouth as you waited for an answer.

The still-unidentified man leaned into you, his face coming to pause just inches away from yours, before he produced a stainless steel Zippo from his jacket; as he flicked the lighter open, the flame of it shot upwards, illuminating the small space that your two bodies had created, encapsulated by the shadow of his wide shoulders and his even wider brimmed hat.

You winked at him before leaning forward and into him, bringing the cigarette close enough for it to come alight, inhaling the smoke and vapor deeply into your lungs. You pulled away from the man, proceeding to smoke your cigarette in tense silence, knowing that your lack of continued engagement would surely drive him absolutely mad. You exhaled a cloud of smoke, tapping the cherry of the cigaratte against the bar top, ashes sprinkling onto the floor below; this certainly wasn’t a classy establishment, and as they weren’t paying you particularly well, you didn’t feel bad about the red-hot ashes that fell onto the floor below you.

You took several more long inhales from the cigarette between your fingers, pointedly ignoring the curious and intrigued look of the man seated next to you; giving in too easily wouldn’t be fun, you had to find a way to build the tension.

The bartender came to rest across the sticky pine bar top across from you, a hand waving slightly across your field of vision to gain your attention, as you had previously been preoccupied by the art of ignoring the man seated next to you. “Is anyone there, is anyone listening?”

You slapped away the hand that floundered between you and the bartender, before swallowing back the entirety of your drink. You coughed slightly as the heat of the alcohol licked down your spine, before turning your attention back to the employee on the other side of the bar. “Am I up next?”

The crooning country song playing across the bar faded away into a relaxed kind of silence; eyeballing the clock, you saw that it was 11PM; time for your usual weekend set... for a crowd of nine. Eight regulars, and the one unexpected visitor. You could sense that the tall man next to you was watching your movements curiously and excitedly; and you continued to make a point to avoid his attentions, maintaining the facade that you were unaffected and uninterested.

The stranger turned within his seat to face you, a pair of rich and deep brown eyes settling onto your form as you rose from your seat. “Are you telling me that I get to enjoy underpriced top shelf, and the sight of you on stage for free?” He asked, a teasing and suggestive undercurrent undeniably present in his voice, a thick accent cutting through it all.

You hummed at his comment, eyes rolling over his impressive frame once again before deigning to respond. “Should’ve paid a cover at the door, but tips are appreciated.”

“You can bet I’d give you more than just the tip, sugar.”

You laughed at the unexpected bravado of his comment, the bluntness of it catching you off guard. You shook your head, not being able to find the words to respond as his eyes dug into you, somehow scraping past the makeup and scant clothing you had found yourself in. Your momentary distraction had led to your cigarette burning low, before the blazing ash of it dropped onto your thigh, burning a hole into the tights that covered your bruised legs. You winced at the heat of it, a curse tumbling from your lips as you realized you were making an absolute fool of yourself after all of your efforts to seem aloof and disengaged. “Fuck,” you hissed, swiping at the burning spot on your upper thigh, trying to dispel and minimize the pain.

The man sitting next to you had unfortunately noticed the whole scene play out, from the cherry dropping onto your leg and the swear that slipped from your lips. “Might take you up on that later, sweetheart; but the show must go on, so go on, pretty girl.”

You rolled your eyes at the condescending comment before rising from the chair, knowing that the nameless man would continue to watch you. “Do you have a name to go along with that bold mouth?” You asked, looking up through your lashes to briefly make eye contact with the man. The warmth and depth of his brown eyes caught you off guard; while they were certainly mischievous, you could sense that something more existed behind the macho bravado he projected. 

“Whiskey,” he responded, the words rolling off his tongue, his mouth quirking up in a grin.

You looked down at the glass that was held securely within his large and squared hands, recognizing its contents. “Didn’t ask what you drink, cowboy,” You deadpanned, an eyebrow quirking up at him, before reaching out to flick the brim of his hat.

He laughed as his hand came up from his side to grab yours, the speed of his reflexes impressing you more than you cared to admit. He brought your hand away from his face, holding it between the two of you, his thumb tracing circles into the back of your hand in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “The name’s Jack, but my friends know me as Agent Whiskey.”

“Are we friends?” You asked sarcastically, pulling your hand away from his as you began walking towards the stage.

“Not in the slightest, sweetheart,” he called out to you, a hint of laughter in his voice. “But I sure as shit hope we’re something better than friends.”

This man’s confidence and ego was intriguing, that couldn’t be denied; but you hated the way that the two of you played into each others energies, the way that he could get under your skin within just a few minutes of knowing him. But you also knew that your shared banter and irritation would serve a higher purpose later in the evening, so you let those flickers of frustration burn as you plotted a way to get equally as deep under his skin.

You winced a bit as you stepped into the red-tinged stage lights, the heat of them radiating against your skin in a way that made you thankful for your short dress and cropped jacket. Your steps echoed through the desolate and dirty bar, as your beat-up boots carried you across the small stage. As the clicking of your heels was the only sound present in the bar, the patrons attentions had turned towards you; the three men by the door had stopped their game of pool; the two men playing cards had lost track of the next turn; and the three women who lingered on the tattooed arms of their men were glaring at you something fierce, their insecurity permeating the air like their sickly sweet cheap perfumes.

You settled yourself down onto the barstool that had been moved up to the stage; it was uncomfortable, but you pushed that discomfort away as you fished a pick from your pocket and grabbed your beat-up acoustic. You strummed it gently, seeing that it was plugged into the singular amp on the stage. You ignored the static crackle that it projected as you adjusted yourself on the barstool, discreetly tugging your dress downwards to maintain some modesty as you crossed your ankles.

The set progressed as so many had before — you played through the old standbys, the ones that the limited audience could sing along to without fail; you threw in some original guitar work in the inbetween as you talked into the mic, reminiscing about the artists of the past and their contributions; and you even honored the request of a drunken patron who had spilled his beer in his enthusiasm.

The curious man from before had continued to watch you closely but quietly, his glass progressively emptying and refilling as you carried on under the heat of the stage lights. Something about the intensity with which he stared at you caused something to stir in your gut, and you shifted self consciously on the barstool, betraying your nervousness to the man who sat back and observed. Whiskey — he had told you to call him Whiskey.

Glancing up at the clock, you saw that the hands were encroaching on midnight and your time on the stage would be up shortly. While you were ready to be out from underneath the rosy lights that projected onto you, you also understood that when the bar closed, you would have to return to the nomadic and harsh lifestyle that was always lying in wait for you. You weren’t closing out a set to thunderous applause, returning to a hotel room or a penthouse; you were looking forward to a beat up couch in a room with a busted radiator, and a shower that was hot for about four minutes.

But an idea came to you: maybe you could change that for tonight. The man identified at Whiskey seemed to be more well-off than the usual crowd, and there was a chance that he was at the least staying in a motel, if not a nicer hotel down the road. He had unmistakably flirted with you earlier, so you felt confident that your advances would be well received. You figured that a late night with an attractive man was more than worth the promise of a hot shower and a pillow, so you closed out your set in an impulsive and unplanned way.

“We’ve got a visitor here with us this evening, so I’d like to leave with a special parting.” You strummed a rarely practiced chord, eyes passing across the drunken patrons before landing on the curious man who had unwittingly become your mark for the night. He seemed to recognize the song before you had time to complete your spiel, a brightness lit within his eyes as he smiled, flashing a perfect smile at you that you could see despite the blinding stage lights. “This is a song for our guest — Tennessee Whiskey.”

Your hands found the appropriate chords as your eyes drifted closed, not wanting to give him that level of intimacy just yet.

“ _Used to spend my nights out in a barroom, liquor was the only love I’d known; but you rescued me from reaching for the bottom, and brought me back from being too far gone.”_

You looked up from the floor, a saccharine and playful grin on your face as you stared into the deep brown eyes that had locked with yours. He really was a quite beautiful man, classically built like the old Hollywood stars... This evening had the opportunity to turn into something lovely.

“ _You’re as smooth, as Tennessee whiskey...”_

Your eyes stayed locked onto his throughout the remainder of the song; you sang your damned heart out, giving it every ounce of spirit and emotion that the bourbon had unearthed from your chest. The heat of the lights dissipated around you, no longer feeling their burn; the ache in your back lessened as you flung your enthusiasm into the performance; you felt like a real artist again, finally having an enthralled audience.

“ _You’re as smooth, as Tennessee whiskey;_

_Tennessee whiskey,_

_Tennessee whiskey.”_

A grin spread across your face as your hand came to rest against the beaten and stained guitar in your grasp. The unmistakeable sound of a few individuals clapping filled your ears, and all of a sudden the heat of the lights on you returned, and somehow they felt hotter than ever before.

Whiskey’s gaze was still fixed solidly on you, as he rose upwards from his seat and placed his glass onto the bar top, before confident steps carried him towards the stage, his boots shining in the limited light. You felt yourself blush at the continued fixation, setting your guitar down as you moved to leave the stage.

A calloused hand was outstretched before you, offering you assistance as you stepped down from the makeshift stage. You grasped onto it gratefully, enjoying the warmth that it offered; you let Whiskey guide you down from the stage and onto the dented and sticky bar floor. The heels you wore catapulted you several inches past your true height, but you still had to look upwards into the man’s face; his broad and domineering frame made your heart race and a heat coil within your gut, as he used your hand to bring your body in against his. You smiled up at him as his other hand found itself resting on your waist, bringing you in closer against his body, the suede of his jacket brushing roughly against the denim of yours.

“Well you’ve got a voice prettier than a songbird, sugar.”

“And a bite that’s even sharper.”

“I would hope so.” He chuckled at your veiled threat, continuing to hold your flushed body against his. “This bar’s got little to choose from, but how about you leave with me and I can treat you to some real Tennessee whiskey?”

“Another shitty dive bar?” You asked, eyebrows raising suggestively, as you repositioned your jacket to better display your cleavage that was thrust forward in your dress. You knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it.

“Nah, sweetheart, something nicer than this. How about the Cavalier Hotel up the road?”

Exactly what you had hoped for; not a shitty motel, not the backseat of a car; but a hotel that would offer clean white towels, coffee, and a comfortable bed. Not to mention, the attractive man who would be bringing you there; you felt a familiar fire course through your core and tickle its way up your spine, as you imagined getting this well-dressed man undressed. He was more handsome than anyone you had come across before, which was saying something, given your journey through the continental United States.

“Lead the way, handsome.”

Whiskey laughed before releasing his grasp on your waist, however his hand remained clasped within yours as he moved to guide the two of you out of the bar. You waved at the bartender who was watching your movements, as he had a cautious and concerned eye trained on you; he nodded knowingly at your gesture, understanding your intentions through the simplistic wave of your hand.

You stepped into the cool evening air, and you hadn’t quite adjusted to the dip in temperature that occurred once the sun was down; you pulled your jacket tighter around your frame, as Whiskey guided you forward towards the singular classic car that was parked within the lot of the roadside bar. Ever the classic gentleman, he opened the door for you, continuing to hold your hand as you guided yourself into the comfortable leather seat of the vehicle; and once you were comfortable, he closed the door and made his way to the drivers seat.

The drive to the hotel passed in relative silence; it was a relatively short journey to the next larger town, and the two of you understood the intentions for the evening — no need to clutter the time with unnecessary and unwanted pleasantries. You enjoyed the silence that stretched between the two of you, as it was distinct, and yet... not uncomfortable.

The neon glow of the hotel lights drew your attention back to the present moment, and you felt an excitement blooming at the thought of being alone with this curious and sensual man. He parked with ease, and before you had time to unbuckle yourself, he was at the passenger’s side door, opening it and extending you a helping hand. You stepped forward from the low-slung vehicle, grasping tightly onto Whiskey’s hand as he pulled you up from the seat. He wordlessly guided you through the hotel and to the upper floor, his hands becoming progressively more and more exploratory as you drew closer to your private room.

The two of you had found yourselves encapsulated within the mirrored space of the elevator when Whiskey’s hand came to rest on the glass next to your face, as he leaned in close to you; his free hand found its place on the small of your back, and he used the leverage to pull your hips further into him. “Have to ask you again, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this? You’re pretty enough for Vegas, baby. Pretty enough for Paris, if I’m being honest.”

Your chin jutted outwards in response to his bold commentary; you leaned forward within his grasp so that your mouth brushed gently against his ear. “How about you put your money where that mouth is, and you take me to Paris?”

“We can be out of this town tomorrow morning, sugar. Just tell me where you want to go.”

You had heard similar promises before, but from less attractive men. Resigning yourself to the improbability of this promise, you turned your focus back to the attractive man in front of you, determined to enjoy your shared evening and whatever it may hold. You ran your palms across his broad chest before moving over his shoulders and down his back; you felt the pistol that he carried on him, and made a point to avoid contact with it.

Gazing upwards into the confounding and complex eyes above you, you instinctively closed your eyes as your body took over control, leaning in against his tense and muscular frame as your lips pressed softly into his, hoping that this more intimate gesture wasn’t an overstep across unknown boundary.

He kissed you back with fervor, the familiar taste of whiskey on his tongue as he licked hotly into your mouth; you responded with a mirrored enthusiasm, fit for the mirrored place you had found yourself in. His hips pressed yours back into the reflective walls of the elevator, hands sliding up your body with no regards for your dress or for decency; the elevator dinged at your arrival on the appropriate floor, and you pushed him off of you gently, increasingly eager to retreat towards a more private space.

Whiskey opened the door to a beautifully private and distinctly clean room; you observed the closed curtains, the suitcase in the corner, the toothbrush by the sink. It was an oddly humanizing view of the man who you were about to let defile you.

You let him guide your willing body into the hotel room, allowed him to press you downwards into the pristine white bed linens as his strong hands removed his hat and his jacket; he was nothing if not motivated, you observed. His hands never ventured far from your body, constantly stroking and squeezing every inch of you that was laid out on display for him. Leaning into his pressured touch, you propped yourself up onto your hands in response; your face moved closer to his until your lips were barely grazing against his; you could feel the roughness of his mustache against your delicate skin, but truthfully, you liked the friction and knew that it could come in handy in... _other contexts._ One would hope that his gentlemanly behavior extended to the bedroom as well.

You shrugged out of your denim jacket, allowing it to fall to the floor, before you hooked your hands into Whiskey’s belt loops; you could feel the unmistakably cold steel of his gun present, and hoped that he would remove it soon as it made you nervous. Your wish was granted, as he pulled both his pistol and his whip away from his body, depositing them securely on the desk that faced the window.

His hands now freed, they moved upwards to cup your face, the broad expanse of them dwarfing your cheeks that had worn a bit thin through this recent rough spot. He leaned in to kiss you again, his tongue dipping past your lips to taste your mouth; you responded in kind, deepening the kiss before you caught his bottom lip between your teeth, biting down lightly onto it; he growled in response, a gravelly sound echoing through his chest. Loving the response and reaction you had garnered from him, you were emboldened to move your hands upwards into his curly hair, your fingers tangling into it before you gave him a gentle tug, pulling his body down onto yours.

Whiskey’s hands moved away from your face, one coming to roughly cup your breast over your dress, the other making its way up your thigh, pushing your dress progressively higher and higher until you could feel the cool, crisp air of the hotel air conditioning hit your achingly hot center. You gasped at the combination of sensations; the heat of his hands and his body, the softness of the bed, the cool air that surrounded two burning bodies.

His long fingers were curling around the hem of your underwear and you gasped; your hands moved upwards to find the buttons of his white shirt and began to undo them shakily. You cursed the way that your hands shook as you fought each button open, betraying your nervousness and excitement for this man. Whiskey didn’t seem to mind, or even notice, though, as he quickly whipped your underwear off of your body and across the room; and now that piece of clothing was removed, he focused on locating the zipper of your dress.

You guided his hands towards the clasp and zipper that held the garment closed, smiling confidently into the kiss that he gave you, as a thank-you for your assistance and consideration. You pushed his shirt off of his shoulders, a small gasp escaping from you as you saw the beautifully tanned, muscled frame of the man who was positioned above you; the same man who was tugging your dress away from you, the same attractive man whose words and accent sent a shiver down your spine. This was certainly better than you had expected for a Friday night.

Leaning back onto your elbows, you realized that you were fully exposed, and the man above you was still far-too clothed for your liking. You could see the impressive length of his erection straining against the restrictive and wonderfully tight fabric of his pants; your heart began to race a little faster at the thought of taking it all inside of you.

You moved up to undo his belt, but his hands caught yours; you let him guide you without any resistance, curious to see what this man had in mind. “No need to be in a rush, pretty girl. I promised you Tennessee whiskey, remember?”

_What? What was he going on about now?_

He stepped away from the bed, leaving your head spinning as you watched the half-dressed man cross the room. He turned away from you, and you couldn’t help but admire the expanse of his shoulders, the narrow waist, the muscular and defined structure that he displayed. You were somewhat dismayed by his departure though, having been quite excited about the idea of having him here in this mediocre hotel room.

He procured two glasses and a bottle of... _whiskey_ , from the fridge. _Well, he was at least a man of his word, you reasoned._ After two stiff drinks were poured, he turned his brilliantly white, flashing smile to you and sauntered back to the bed, his hips projecting out before him, carrying him back to you. He sat down next to you, the bed creaking slightly with the weight.

He reached out to place one of the glasses into your hand, wrapping your fingers tightly around it before guiding the amber liquid up to your lips. “Taste that, sugar, and tell me if it’s better than what you’ve been drinking at that sorry excuse for a bar.”

You smirked at him, an eyebrow raising upwards. You smelled the whiskey that was now under your nose, and could instantly tell that whatever this man was drinking was infinitely more expensive and special than anything you had come across before. Taking a small sip, you felt the heat of it burn the tip of your tongue; you rolled the whiskey around in your mouth, tasting the profile of it. You took a second sip, now being able to better gauge the depth of flavors that were present. Both eyebrows shot up in surprise at the beauty and and quality of the whiskey.

“Good, isn’t it sweetheart?” Whiskey laughed, enjoying your response to the beverage in your grasp. “There’s more where that came from, but how about you come here and give me a taste?”

He leaned back into the bed, propping himself up on his hands, and you couldn’t help but admire the man who was laid out beneath you. You took another sip of whiskey, before standing up to place both glasses back down onto the table. Taking slow steps back to him, you realized that you weren’t self-conscious as you usually were around other men — Whiskey seemed to appreciate all of you, for exactly what it was; all of the sharp edges, all of the vitriol and bite, and all of the sweetness that laid buried beneath it.

Taking a deep breath, you moved to straddle his waist; you grabbed his large hands and brought one to your waist, and another to your mouth; his eyebrow quirked up in curiosity for a moment, before you kissed the tip of his index and middle finger, before taking both into your burning mouth. He groaned underneath you, his hips bucking up against you reflexively; deciding to use his momentum in your favor, you allowed your body to fall downwards onto his, your lips coming to connect with the waiting lips of Whiskey. You opened your mouth into his, both of your tongues connecting as you tasted him, as he tasted the whiskey on your lips.

“That’s a mighty expensive bottle, but it tastes even better on you,” he groaned, as you subtly pressed your now-wet center onto his strained and throbbing erection. “Bet that’s not the only thing that tastes good on you, though, baby.”

You whimpered as his hands came up to roughly grab your ass; and with one fluid motion, he rolled the both of you over so that you were now on your back, your head resting on a mountain of impossibly-soft pillows. He shifted further down the bed, before grabbing your feet and pushing your legs back into your body, opening you up fully to him. A cocky smile had taken up residence on his face; at this point, you weren’t unconvinced that it wasn’t tattooed on. And yet — the confidence only served to heighten your sense of excitement. _Maybe the confidence wasn’t unwarranted this time._

Whiskey’s index finger drew a painfully slow and languid line through your wetness, before he brought it up towards his mouth. Taking the slick digit into his mouth, he grinned at you devilishly before his body moved to rest on the bed, his head coming to rest between your thighs. You felt the heat of his tongue pierce through you, before tracing its way up to your clit; you were already whimpering and gasping at the sensation.

“Gonna make you sing for me, songbird,” he whispered hoarsely, before bringing that sinfully beautiful mouth back to your clit. Your back arched up from the white linens as his tongue traced pressured circles on your clit, sending white-hot waves crashing across your body as he hummed against you. Your eyes closed reflexively, and your hands shot outwards to bury themselves in his curling hair, bringing him further into you; you whimpered as he grinned, his lips coming together to suck lightly on the bundle of nerves. And just as you were riding out the last wave of pleasure, you felt him broach your entrance with two fingers; you gasped, and a small whine escaped from you at this new sensation. Whiskey curled his fingers within you, the pads of his fingers dragging against your inner walls, and your hips jerked forward in response, loving every sensation and touch that he offered. “That’s a good girl,” he whispered, his lips and teeth grazing across your clit. “Sing for me, songbird.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head at this unexpectedly sweet praise. Whiskey’s fingers continued to stroke lazily through you, his hand making explicit sounds as he delved into the wetness of your pussy, insistently keeping his mouth on you — your thighs, your clit, your stomach, anywhere that he wanted to reach.

You felt a third finger penetrate you, your already-soaking cunt offering little resistance to him; you sighed into his touch as you felt the heat and tension coiling within your core. With each stroke of his expert fingers, with each flick of his sinful tongue, you felt the tension within your body growing as each second passed. Your body clamped down onto Whiskey’s hand, as you writhed underneath his touch; you cried out and whimpered as your body tensed against him, your muscles feeling as though they were about to shatter like glass —

“That’s it, baby, sing for me,” Whiskey growled, his fingers and mouth picking up to a painfully exquisite pace. You felt a shock wave radiate through your body, and then you were crashing and crumbling around him, crying out as you pulled his hair, your orgasm barreling through you like a train that had run off its tracks. Your body writhed underneath him, as every inch of you quaked with the pleasure that he had brought you.

Whiskey pulled away from you as you rode out the aftershock and the waves of your orgasm, your chest heaving as he stood in front of the bed, his mouth glistening and his cock straining underneath his pants. His eyes were darker than before but also burning with a previously-unseen fire, his blazing gaze fixed onto you as you tried to recover from the high he had just brought you to.

When your breathing had returned to a more sustainable pace, you sat upwards and reached out to him, grabbing the belt buckle that was still keeping him from you; he let you guide him back towards the bed, before your hands expertly worked the leather free from his pants. The buttons came undone easily, and you gripped the denim pants that had barricaded you from him, pulling them down his thickly-muscled thighs with force, until they were low enough that he could kick them off and away. His black boxers served as the last barrier of privacy and decency from the man who had just made you cum on his face, and you eagerly pulled them away as well, allowing his thick and throbbing cock to spring forwards from the restrictive fabric. You felt your breath catch in your throat as you saw the length of him; what a fucking incredible stroke of luck you had been dealt tonight.

Your hand wrapped around him, just barely being able to hold him in your grasp; he hissed at your touch, and you felt a devilish laugh coming up as you leaned forward to take the tip of him into your mouth, your tongue dragging slowly across the tip of his cock, loving the way that it twitched at your touch. His hand came down to rest on the back of your head, his long fingers wrapping themselves tightly in your hair; he subtly pushed your mouth further down onto his cock, and you opened your mouth and throat even further to accommodate him. Despite your expertise and your effort, however, you gagged a bit as he hit the back of your throat in a way you had never experienced before. You heard a rocky laugh come rumbling forth from Whiskey’s chest, and you rolled your eyes at his ego-stroking.

He must’ve noticed your eyerolling, though, as he allowed his hips to snap upwards into you, his cock pushing into your throat and dragging through your mouth as you made your best effort to accommodate his considerable size. You felt tears prick your eyes instinctively as you fought off a cough; but you weren’t one to shy away from a challenge, particularly not a challenge that had just brought you to a mind-blowing orgasm.

You rolled your tongue along the underside of him, enjoying the tensing of his body that you felt in response; your mouth glided up and down along his length, tracing patterns across him with your tongue as you heard his breaths become more hitched and unsteady with your attentions. You hummed in satisfaction against him, pleased with how you were bringing this man to make these pathetic, groaning sounds.

His grip in your hair tightened, and he pulled your mouth off of him with a wet-sounding pop, before bringing your face up to his for a sloppy, breathless kiss. You smiled into his kiss, your hands tracing across his defined abdomen, before you rolled over across the white sheets to prop yourself up for him on your hands and knees. You heard a curse roll through his thick accent, right before you felt his hand come down swiftly to slap your ass, the cracking sound reverberating through the room in conjunction with your startled gasp.

You didn’t have much time to recover before you felt Whiskey’s thick cock pressing against you, only pausing for a moment to drag himself across your wet folds before plunging deeply into you, his hips snapping forward into you, driving himself impossibly deep inside of you with a guttural groan. He picked up a rapid, nearly-bruising pace as he continued to thrust into you, and you could hear the satisfaction in his chuckle as you whimpered and cried out beneath him in pleasure. You could feel his impossibly massive cock splitting you in half as he delved deeper and deeper into you, his strong hands coming to rest on your ass as he spread you further, allowing him to penetrate you deeper than you had ever imagined possible.

You felt him dragging through your aching cunt, the veins and ridges of his cock giving you more stimulation and contact than you had ever experienced before. His name spilled from your whiskey-stained lips, the irony of it not lost on you. He continually muttered sweetly explicit things as he mercilessly drove into you, eliciting sounds from your mouth and your body that you didn’t know yourself to be capable of.

Whiskey’s hand came cracking down onto your ass again, once, twice, three times; and you had to admit that you loved the sound of it, a delirious smile spreading across your face. “Fuck, baby, that’s fucking beautiful — you’re beautiful — gonna make you a star, that’s what you deserve — _you’re a star in my sky —“_

You reveled in Whiskey’s explicit praises, the sound of it sending shivers up your spine as your body tensed beneath him. You whined at his continued barrage of thrusts, your shoulders eventually giving way as you folded into him, your chest and face coming to rest against the pristine sheets that had now been undeniably wrecked. His grip on your hips modified to your new positioning as he hauled your waist and ass up towards him, your face burying further into the soft downy comforter beneath you.

Whiskey paused for a moment, a hand coming up to trace its way over your spine; you whined at his lack of movement, and he laughed; you bit your tongue, trying not to give into him any further. “C’mon, sing pretty for me, songbird. Let me make you my star.”

He drove back into you with force, his skin slapping against yours, and you were confident that the bar patrons could hear the two of you from here as you both grunted, groaned, panted, and moaned within the thin beige walls of the hotel. The soft fabric drug across your face repeatedly, as Whiskey pushed and pulled your willing body into his; and through the heady wave of pleasure you were feeling, you also felt a sense of excitement about being able to sleep on something so soft and comfortable.

Whiskey’s thrusts became more irregular and his grunts more forceful; his hand came down to repeatedly crack against you in a steady and successive rhythm. A rumbling sound was building within the man behind you, sounding like an avalanche or a rockslide, or maybe a lion — you felt his hips stutter as they thrust forward again, and you knew that he was approaching his peak. “P-perfect fucking pussy, baby — _gonna cum in that pretty pussy_ —“

You nodded at his words, encouraging him to chase that high, to tumble over that waterfall’s edge. You wanted him to cum, you wanted to give him that, wanted to feel it happen inside of you —

And with a stuttered, choked roar, you felt Whiskey’s cock ram into you one final time, his cum filling you and coating you in a way that made your skin crawl with pleasure and pride. You hummed underneath him, pressing your hips back into his sensitive body as you enjoyed the sensation of your combined fluids passing between you.

His chest heaving, he pulled away from you, and you realized you missed the feeling of his throbbing and spent cock inside of you. He rolled over and collapsed onto his back, a sheen of sweat coating his godlike body, before his hands returned to your body to pull you into him. The two of you laid there in silence, enjoying the moment of rest after your previous exertions.

Your hands traces across his chest contentedly, as you gazed up into the eyes that were the color of aged leather and whiskey. He was certainly more intriguing and incredible than you would’ve anticipated, and you had a nagging sense that your connection wouldn’t last just for tonight.

You wanted it to go on a bit longer, wanted to see where this may take you. _Maybe to Vegas. Maybe to Paris. Maybe just down the road._

You curled in towards Whiskey’s body with a sigh, deciding to be grateful for what you had in this moment — a warm, clean bed; cold air conditioning; and an earth-shatteringly handsome man who somehow seemed to be entranced by you. Tomorrow would be a new day — it always was, and it always would be. And whatever it brought you, it would bring you into the next day regardless.

But for tonight you had a handsome man and multiple fluffy pillows. For tonight, at least, that would be more than enough for you.

***

You awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and sunlight streaking across the room that you had defiled the previous night. Whiskey was seated across from you in the cheap leather recliner, a steaming cup of black coffee on the table next to him as he read the day’s newspaper. “Good, you’re awake. There’s a cup of coffee for you on the bedside table, and a few Tylenol. Thought you may need them.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you rolled over to find that the man hadn’t lied to you — you grabbed the Tylenol, appreciating his thoughtfulness, and you washed them down with the previously-promised black coffee. You waited for him to speak further, to say something about getting you a cab back to town — but he did no such thing.

“Shower’s decently hot, and I had some clean clothes brought by for you. Go on and get cleaned up, songbird, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

Your eyebrow raised in surprise, not understanding what he was referring to. _Wasn’t this the time when he was supposed to kick you out with a kiss goodbye?_

He must’ve noticed your slack jawed, startled look, as he placed both the coffee and newspaper down before rising from the creaking recliner to cross over to you. His mischievous brown eyes seemed warmer and softer in the morning light, and you could see the lines around them that somehow made you love them even more. He guided you up from the bed, before slapping your ass and pushing you gently towards the shower.

“Better get going if we’re going to make that flight to Paris, songbird.”

A grin lit up your face as you realized that you had somehow stumbled into something beautiful and genuine; you pulled Whiskey in for a long and sensual kiss, trying to somehow convey your excitement and joy. One kiss couldn’t quite cover it all, but as you pulled him towards the bathroom and its steaming shower, you realized you’d have plenty more opportunities for it in Paris.


	2. midnight in paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an unexpected addition to what was intended to be a one shot! As I had incorrectly predicted it to be a one-chapter story, I could be proven wrong again by saying this is the final installment. More may come; we'll just have to wait and see!

_“There's a whole lot of magic,_   
_When you're in Paris,_   
_And I swear I've never seen_   
_So many pretty women go by._   
_And I can't stop from dancing,_   
_I'm spinning 'round like a clock,_   
_That's wound up too tight._   
_I want to tell you 'bout all I see,_

_Stars in my eyes that you would not believe,_   
_I'm a little funky wearin' out my shoes,_   
_Don't mean anything unless I'm dancin' with you._   
_Midnight, midnight in Paris;_   
_Midnight, midnight in Paris.”_

  
You had spent the last several hours staring out of the small airplane window that you were seated next to; for all your travels, by car, train, foot, bus, and even the occasional questionable hitchhiking, you had yet to be on a plane, much less a plane that was whisking you away to a foreign country. And you had certainly never had company like this before either.

The man that you knew as Whiskey had somehow stumbled into your rundown, roadside bar like a desert tumbleweed, and yet his presence into your life was more accurately compared to a burning bush. This curious and confident man had shared a bit of his fire and passion with you, allowing that fire to spread to your soul, with your bodies only fanning that flame even higher.

As you sat back within the reclined seat, you reflected on the tumultuous span of hours that had led you here, to seat 2A. You never would’ve guessed that his sweet and explicit promises to take you away from your hard-knock life would actually transform into something real, and yet after your shared night together, and the morning’s shared shower, he had pulled out his phone to show you two tickets for a flight departing that evening — a flight, that was headed to Paris. _Just as he had promised you._

He had been a man of his word so far, and a gentleman at that; but there was still a piece of your mind that held to the nagging suspicion that this ticket came with… _terms and conditions_. But you had certainly been faced with worse prospects before. You had slept on a couch riddled with holes that smelled of mothballs and stale beer; you would gleefully give your body to this handsome man for the travel and luxury he had brought you so far.

Watching the world fly away beneath you was breathtaking, and you couldn’t seem to get enough of it as you drank in the sight of the ever-changing landscape that rolled beneath you; the plains of the Midwest, the Appalachian mountain range, the beauty of it all keeping you enraptured. But by now, being several hours into the flight, you were soaring over the Atlantic Ocean — the endless expanse of water that you saw beneath you was a bit terrifying, and your body had started to tense up in the seat, your limbs progressively drawing inwards and your muscles contracting. You felt as though you couldn’t tear your eyes away despite the fear that it sparked — you had seen plenty of terrifying shit in your lifetime, and yet for some reason _this_ was the thing that brought out some actual fear.

You were pulled out of your dissociative, anxious state by the warm pressure of a hand on your knee; looking over to your right, you saw Whiskey’s eyes trained carefully on you, the lines on his face betraying the sense of concern that he held in this moment. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, songbird?”

His voice was surprisingly gentle and… _genuine_. Genuinely concerned and caring. You shook your head as you pulled your eyes away from the undulating, navy waves of the ocean below you, not wanting to unload your anxieties onto this man who had decided to bring you along as a fun and feisty travel companion. “Nothing,” you responded, pinning what was hopefully a convincing smile onto your cheeks.

“Oh, now I don’t believe that for a second,” he said, his thumb tracing circles into your skin. “You’re smart as a whip, sugar.”

You laughed at his playful taunt, the feeling warming your chest and soothing some of your nerves. The man seated next to you was just as mysterious as he had been the previous night, if not more so, as each interaction with him offered you new insights — and yet never a whole picture. You looked on at the handsome man seated next to you and couldn’t help that some of the nerves gave way to attraction. He had traded in the previous night’s suede jacket for a leather one, and his white undershirt clung to him in a way that made a heat spread through your chest; you knew exactly what that thin layer of cotton concealed, the warm and tanned skin, the dark hairs that would be hidden by the light wash denim that had to be fucking _painted_ onto those thighs. You hummed quietly to yourself, quite looking forward to the next hotel room that you would share with this man — and your eyes moved upwards across his body before coming to connect with his.

_Those eyes held a certain kind of firepower, and a mischievous part of you wanted to see what might set it off._

“Just nerves,” you responded, trying to keep your voice steady as your mind held a swirling mixture of fear for the flight, and desire for the man.

Whiskey nodded as though he understood, and turned toward the aisle of the plane; keeping his hand planted firmly onto your thigh, his other one waved down the tall, brunette flight attendant who stepped over to him just a bit too quickly. She flashed a brilliantly white and perfectly straight smile at him, and you couldn’t help but reflexively roll your eyes as she leaned down closer to Whiskey — _closer than she really needed to_. But he didn’t seem to notice the cleavage that was right at eye level, as he turned back to you with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Two whiskeys. A single for me, and a double for my girl.”

You smiled up at the flight attendant with a saccharine grin as you heard Whiskey’s unmistakeable emphasis on _my girl._ She pursed her lips at you in response and you just blinked prettily up at her, continuing to maintain your shit-eating grin.

“Certainly.” She said, the word having a bit of a bite to it. She turned to walk away and Whiskey’s attention remained on you, his hand moving a bit further up your thigh, playing with the frayed hole in your jeans. You couldn’t help the way that your breath hitched in your throat ashis dexterous fingers slid underneath the denim, seeking the sensation of skin on skin.

A question came to mind, and you were unable to stop it from tumbling forth from your lips; you had never had much of a filter to begin with, and that filter wore thin when you were nervous or excited. _Or both._

“So being the world traveler that you are, I’m wondering if you’re a member.” You demurred playfully.

Whiskey’s eyes searched your face for some context or a clue; the corner of his lip pulled to the side as he tried to determine how to answer your question. “I’m affiliated with a lot of things, songbird. You’re going to have to be more specific for me.”

You giggled, honestly surprised that this cocky, confident, swaggering man didn’t understand what answer you were fishing for. You opened your mouth to elaborate, but right as your mouth began to form the shape of a word, the flight attendant returned with two crystal glasses; a single for Whiskey, and a double for you. _You wondered if she might’ve spit in yours._

She passed the glasses off without another word, before spinning on her heel to leave.

You lifted the glass to your lips, grateful for Whiskey’s thoughtfulness and attempt to help soothe your nerves. The whiskey was of fairly good quality, and you felt the fire of it burn comfortably down your spine to coil in your stomach, relaxing you just as a heating pad would. After another sip, you rested the glass on your knee and stared ahead of you, pointedly avoiding Whiskey’s gaze. “Suppose you’re not… prestigious enough, to be a member.” You taunted.

Whiskey pinched your thigh, his hand still resting against you. You squealed, jumping a bit and jostling the glass that you were resting against your knee. “Careful, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want to make a mess.” He said, a devilish edge creeping into his voice. “Now how about you tell me what you’re going on about?”

You took another slow sip of your drink, drawing out the moment and Whiskey’s attention, before leaning in closely to him. You felt the brim of his hat brush against your temple, and your lips were almost close enough to feel the heat of his body; your hand that was not occupied by a glass landed on his upper thigh. “The mile high club, Mister Whiskey. Surprised you’re not more familiar with it.”

He chuckled and from your closeness you could feel the grin on his face. You pulled back far enough to see the amused smile on his face, to see the brown eyes that somehow grew warmer whenever he laughed. “Are you questioning my status, sweetheart?”

You looked at him innocently. “I was just curious.”

One eyebrow raised beneath the brim of his hat. “We’ll confirm my membership another time,” he said quietly, the hint of a growl _and_ a promise in his voice. “But for now, I’m going to wait until I can treat you to all of the luxuries that Paris can offer — and that includes a penthouse suite, sweetheart.”

His wink threatened to do you in, right then and there. You didn’t want to wait until the flight was over, didn’t want to wait until you had gone through customs, gotten a taxi, gotten checked in — _patience was a virtue you hadn’t been blessed with, and this was no exception_. You huffed and sat back further into your seat, pouting a bit while you nursed your drink.

Whiskey laughed at the insolence of your response, and he squeezed your thigh in a way that just made him even more irritatingly irresistible. “Lord, what a stroke of luck that I stumbled into you.”

You couldn’t fight off the small smile that crept up onto your face, but you kept your eyes fixed on the glass in your hand as he leaned over to place a quick kiss on your forehead.

This was going to be a long six hours.

***

You had heard from cynics that the beauty and enchantment of Paris had been over exaggerated, that the charm and magic of the city had dissipated under the onslaught of the tourism industry, but you knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. Bathed in the afternoon sun, the city seemed to glow as though it was lit from within — and just as you had been unable to look away while on the plane, you were unable to look away now as the glossy black Range Rover you were seated in carried you through the streets that you had only ever dreamt about.

With Whiskey’s hand planted right between the top of your thighs, there was an unmistakeable excitement growing — and this excitement was growing like an insistent flower through the heavy concrete of doubt and insecurity. For whatever end this unexpected journey may carry you to, you had made up your mind that you were going to enjoy whatever it offered. You had somehow been plucked out of a desolate desert by a charming cowboy, who had taken a liking to you and decided to offer you the ride of a lifetime.

_Literally._

Whiskey had promised that the two of you would be retreating to a very nice, very private suite upon your arrival; however, he then shared that he had a few matters he needed to address beforehand. You were getting a bit impatient; Paris was permanent, it would always be here and ready for exploration — but you weren’t sure just how much time you’d get to share with Whiskey, and you wanted to make the most of the chemistry and the heat that had flared between you.

The Range Rover came to an abrupt, jolting halt and you were jostled around a bit; Whiskey’s hand gripped your thigh as the car’s brakes clamped down, and you grinned to yourself as you got a small taste of the contact you were so looking forward to. Whiskey noticed the grin on your face and pinched the inside of your thigh playfully. “C’mon, songbird. We’ve got a few stops to make before the sun goes down.”

You started to open your mouth in protest — _several stops? Sundown_? You hadn’t known you’d be waiting that long — _surely, the driver could be paid off to ignore you in the backseat or something._ But just as you had opened your mouth, Whiskey raised his index finger to rest on your lips, quieting you before you had a chance to speak. “Have a little faith in me, songbird. You’ll thank me for it later.”

“You’ve got an awful lot of faith that I won’t break that finger off.” You whispered, annoyed at the man’s attempt to silence you. You didn’t take well to being told to be quiet.

Whiskey’s laugh rumbled through him like an afternoon thunderstorm and you hated yourself just a little for the way that you loved it. He let the tip of his finger drag down the soft skin of your lips, before coming to rest under your chin; he raised your face up to his and planted a quick kiss before opening the door and sliding out of the car in one fluid motion. He grinned at the stupefied and annoyed look on your face, and extended his hand to help guide you out of the car. You grasped onto it and you could feel the immense strength the man had as he nearly carried you out of the luxury vehicle and onto the pavement.

“What’s so important that you couldn’t let me freshen up or change first?” You huffed, planting your hands on your hips as you took in the sight around you. Your attitude quickly changed however, as you were suddenly starstruck by the brilliant golden lights of the Galeries Lafayette that lit up Boulevard Haussmann like the brilliance of fireworks; except these lights didn’t rain down around you before flickering out — these continued to burn brightly.

“We’ve got an important date this evening, sweetheart. Wanted to get you ready for it.” Whiskey whispered, his arm coming to wrap around the small of your waist as he pulled your stunned frame into his. You felt like your head was spinning as you stared on at the opulence of the building and the city surrounding it; _what were you doing here? You were a nobody, from nowhere — why were you here, why were you with him, why did he care? Why did he feel the need to take care of you?_

You were pulled out of your surprise and reverie by the gentle push of a hand against your back, guiding you forward towards the glittering, towering store in front of you. The lights reflecting in Whiskey’s eyes made them appear lighter, like the hue of your favorite bourbon, and your heart squeezed a bit in your chest at the insistent way he encouraged you forward, despite the resistant piece of yourself that believed you couldn’t ever belong here. “Whiskey, I don’t know if you saw that bar we met in — I don’t have more than $100 to my name, I can’t afford anything here.”

His brows came together in confusion at your comment. “Well, I have to say I didn’t see much of the bar — I was too busy looking at you. But I brought you here, songbird,” he said, pulling you into him and wrapping both of his arms around you. “And I said I’d take care of you. This is just part of that promise.”

Your breath caught in your chest at the implication of his words; you wondered how far this generosity would extend, what would be expected of you, how long you could ride out this man’s good graces. You were never particularly inclined to be on anybody’s good side; but then again, it seemed that Whiskey _preferred_ you that way.

“Does the promise extend to that Louis bag?” You asked, a questioning edge to your voice and a challenge in your eyes, as a you pointed at the exquisite black leather bag that was suspended from a mannequin’s slim shoulder. _You could test the waters, gauge his reaction,_ you told yourself.

Whiskey whistled, his face scrunching up; _you wondered if maybe you had pushed too far, wondered if you had been too rude or presumptuous_ — _but the man had you driven around in a Range Rover, surely he had money_ — and then your worries came to a halt as he responded.

“Oh come on, sweet pea, I can do better than that bag. I’m hurt that you even asked.”

Your eyes grew wide before your feelings of nervousness crashed over the boundary into laughter. You grinned up at this absurd, handsome man and let him guide you into the glamorous store — and you continued to let him guide you through it, the two of you collecting and carrying the items that caught your eye, until he located someone to manage the growing pile of shoes, dresses, jackets, jeans, beauty products, purses. He loved every item your eyes and hands were drawn towards, always finding a compliment to accompany it — _your legs looked miles long in the Louboutins, the red Valentino made his heart race, the Ralph Lauren jeans fit you like a glove._ He even made a few excellent suggestions of his own, finding a gorgeous Burberry jacket that made you feel as though you were playing dress up, pretending to be more mature and couture than you had ever been before. And as the grand total of your selections climbed higher and higher, surely as high as the gilded Byzantine dome above you, Whiskey never batted an eye.

When your feet had become sore from wandering the several stories of shopping that the Galeries Lafayette had to offer, you took a moment to rest in one of the plush, comfortable chairs that were available, sighing in contentment and exhaustion for all this day had brought you so far. You were surrounded by more luxury than you had seen in your entire life, and this man was willingly indulging you in every minute of it, seeming to enjoy it almost as much as you did. You watched Whiskey wordlessly and casually pass something small to the assistant who had been managing your growing collection of items — _presumably a credit card —_ and he came over to sit on the edge of the edge of the seat you were reclining in.

“We’re still missing one thing,” he said, hand coming up to rest on his chin as he pondered what would come next. “You need something special for tonight, songbird.”

Your eyebrows came together in confusion — everything he had let you choose was more spectacular than anything you’d ever seen. _What could possibly be more special?_ “I’m sure the Valentino is special enough for whatever you have planned, it’s beautiful enough for Versailles—“

Whiskey cut you off with a hand placed gently under your chin, lifting you face up to his so he could better admire you. “You need something that will sparkle in the light just as bright as you do.”

He guided you up from the chair, and while your body may have whined out in exhaustion, you followed along with him willingly and with an undeniable curiosity. Whiskey brought you into an unexplored part of the store, one that twinkled with the unmistakeable, inimitable light of _diamonds_. The jewelry on display in the backlit cases nearly blinded you, each piece being unique and remarkable in its own right; you had barely been convinced to try on the Louboutins, and now he was pointing at emerald earrings, a pink diamond necklace, a ring set with blood red rubies — you felt faint at the idea and the exorbitant, excessive display. The diamond tennis bracelet he added to the pile of clothing was easily worth what you made in the last year from touring. Not much — but also _too much_.

_Maybe this was some sort of fever dream, or you had been drugged, or you were in a coma and your brain was trying to generate its own entertainment. You didn’t know what the likelihood of any of those options were, but surely it had to be more likely than this?_

You hadn’t spoken in several minutes, having followed along close to Whiskey as he asked to see various pieces and items. You must’ve been fairly out of it, as your mind was brought back screeching into real time as Whiskey’s hand came up around your neck and you recoiled instinctively, your body not recognizing that there was no real threat present. His hand froze in midair, a gorgeous necklace dangling from it.

“Hey, sweetheart, you’re alright,” He said softly, bringing his hand down and away from you to rest on your waist. His rich brown eyes stared into your widened ones, searching for an explanation for your sudden reaction — _but considering the way his brows knit together, you had a feeling that he already knew the reason why._ “How about we sit down for a minute?”

“I’m alright,” you said with a shaky smile, looking at the jewelry that was still suspended in Whiskey’s grasp. “That’s beautiful,” you exhaled. It was the truth — the stones sparkled brilliantly in a million different directions, and the gold glinted in the same enchanting way that Whiskey’s eyes often did. “Can I try it on?” You asked breathlessly, as you had never believed you would get to wear something so stunning.

Whiskey smiled at you gently as his free hand moved against your waist to spin you around, your back was facing him. You felt the cold metal of the necklace against your chest, and you gasped reflexively at the sensation, although the gold quickly warmed to your skin as you had been left blazing from Whiskey’s touch. You reached up and felt your hand dancing across the extraordinary jewels, and there was a piece of you that loved the way you could _feel_ the wealth and prestige on your skin. _This didn’t belong here, on you._

Whiskey’s hands came down to wrap around your waist, pulling you in closely to him, as the two of you watched your reflection in the vanity mirror. “It’s too much,” you whispered softly.

“What did I tell you earlier, songbird? It’s not too much, certainly not for you.” You felt and watched Whiskey bring his lips in against your neck, planting a scorching kiss against your racing pulse. His eyes turned to the assistant and he nodded silently in approval of the purchase. Your heart rate soared, and Whiskey laughed against your skin as he felt the change in pulse against his lips.

“There’s one more place I’d like to bring you, before tonight’s event.” Whiskey said softly, his arms pulling your body back further into his. You nodded into his grasp, deciding to let yourself be lost in this moment, lost in the adoration and generosity this man decided to showy, for whatever reason. He pulled away from you just long enough to scrawl a signature onto the slip of paper brought to him by the assistant, and informed him where to have the day’s purchases brought to.

You let Whiskey guide you out of the brilliant, glimmering golden store and back into the hazy late afternoon sun; he was illuminated by the orange and gold lights that bled across the sky like watercolors, blending into each other with an indescribable grace. The sharp masculinity of his dress cut a significant contrast to the scene he was illuminated against, and yet the combination of the two was somehow still complementary. You brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders and leaned into his broad frame, your eyes drifting closed as you lost yourself in the soft and passionate kiss that he offered to you so willingly, just as willingly as he had offered you the world.

***

After shopping at the Galeries Lafayette, Whiskey had taken you to a small cafe for a bite to eat; and feeling reenergized by the impeccable food and the strong, smooth espresso, you were eager and willing to accompany Whiskey to whatever the next destination may be — a destination which turned out to be a salon and spa. He dropped you off at the door with a kiss on the cheek and instructions to enjoy yourself and be ready for your date by 8PM, when the Range Rover would return to pick you up. You felt nervous about the idea of being away from Whiskey, even temporarily, but the spa quickly took all of those worries and stresses away. You weren’t entirely unconvinced that the masseuse hadn’t fully erased all of the vestiges of stress and aches that your life on the road had brought to you.

And just as Whiskey had promised, the Range Rover showed up at 8PM on the dot; the driver was the only one inside, and your heart dropped a bit as you realized you would be meeting him at this mysterious place, rather than arriving together. However, the ride was undeniably enjoyable as you watched the city begin to light up for the night, and it was just as beautiful as you had always hoped.

The tulle of the red Valentino dress did little to keep the bite of the evening air from your skin, and yet despite the breeze that ran through the dress and across your body, you still felt as though every nerve ending was alight with the burning heat of adrenaline, mixed with the champagne that you had downed in the car on your way to meet Whiskey. You hadn’t been given much information about what this evening may hold, however you were wearing the Valentino gown that had caught Whiskey’s eye, and the diamond necklace that he had insisted on purchasing for you. You wearing clothing that was worth more than you had earned in years, if not your entire life — and it was a heady, intoxicating feeling, being taken care of and so irrefutably spoiled. You had an inkling feeling that you could get all too used to this — but there was also a piece of you that was calculating the resale value of the items you had with you, just in case things went horribly wrong.

The sleek black car dropped you off in front of a brilliantly lit event center; it looked to be an old theater, as the outside still boasted a marquee of the upcoming events and was illuminated by large globe lights that cast the bustling street in a warm glow. You played nervously with the necklace thatlaid against your chest, searching the area nervously for any sight of Whiskey; and the distinct lack of cowboy hats made you progressively more and more concerned. _Shit, well, if worst came to worst, you could likely resell the dress and necklace and shoes for a flight home_ —

And just as your mind began to race, you felt a strong pair of hands wrap around your waist, pulling you into a body that was becoming progressively more familiar; turning around in your new heels, your hands came up to rest on the broad shoulders of the very man you had just been desperately searching for. You laughed in relief and excitement at your reunion, leaning in to kiss the only man on this continent that you knew.

“Well you’re prettier than a picture, songbird.” Whiskey said with a soft grin, his eyes taking in the entire sight of you pressed against him. “How’d I get so lucky to have you here?”

You leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, breathing in the intoxicating smell of his cologne, loving the way his mustache felt rough against your skin. “So are you going to tell me what this date is?” You prodded curiously.

Whiskey smiled as he guided you through the brass doors and into the restored and revitalized theater that was filled with glamorous women and handsomely dressed men. Whiskey had abandoned his hat for the evening, and you loved seeing the well-groomed curls that were combed back in a way that made you desperately want to _mess them up_.

You were clueless about the intent of the event, but based on the glamorous state of the women around you, and the large stage that occupied the opposite end of the room, you assessed that this was likely going to be some sort of performance — and you couldn’t help yourself from thinking about what it would be like to be on that stage, performing for an enraptured audience.

You were impressed by Whiskey’s choice for your first date, choosing to honor your dedication to your art; it showed a sort of thoughtfulness that had been rare in your life. Your eyes roamed all over the theater, taking in the sights of the heavy red velvets and gold filigree; you were distracted by the opulence, but Whiskey kept you moving forward gracefully as he guided you away from the crowd and towards someone who he seemed to recognize. Whiskey kept an arm locked tightly around you as he approached the bar, before coming to a halt in front of ayoung blonde man who was wearing a dark grey tuxedo.

“Whiskey!” The man grinned, waving the two of you towards him. “When they said they’re sending in the cavalry, I didn’t realize that meant you!”

Whiskey laughed and pulled you in closer; the blonde man looked on at you curiously, and you were certain your face reflected the same curious look. “Songbird, I’d like for you to meet my coworker, Eggsy.”

_Weird name, but whatever. You had certainly heard stranger in your years on the road._ You stuck your now-polished hand out to the man, intending to shake hands, however the man introduced to you as Eggsy clasped your hand in his and brought it up to his face, before placing a gentle kiss onto your skin. The gesture caught you by surprise, but you didn’t recoil as you had earlier in the day. _Maybe your arrangement with Whiskey would include a certain… willingness, and expectation, to share affections?_

“Easy there, Eggsy,” Whiskey joked — but you could hear a thinly veiled threat behind the seemingly harmless words. _Guess that was a no to sharing — and that’s perfectly alright by you._

Whiskey turned to order the both of you a drink, and you figured you could make an attempt to make pleasant conversation with the other man, who seemed to be friendly enough. “Would you be able to give me a hint about tonight’s event? Whiskey hasn’t been too keen to share.”

Eggsy took a sip of his drink before responding. “Cabaret show tonight, very exclusive. Tickets were hard to come by, even for us.” He paused as Whiskey turned to hand you a glass of champagne; you felt the cool . “But we won’t be seeing much of it anyway.”

Your brows came together in confusion; _why the fuss for an event you apparently weren’t going to enjoy?_ You turned your questioning gaze to Whiskey, searching for any crumb of context that he could offer to make this whole thing make sense.

_“_ We’ve got a private table towards the back, sweetheart. We’ll get to see most of the show, but then Eggsy and I will have to step away for a minute to handle some business.” Whiskey’s hand traced gentle circles onto the small of your back, trying to reassure you; but he was still keeping something secret, you could sense it. _Maybe he’s a drug dealer? You wouldn’t hold it against him; he certainly wouldn’t be the first one you’ve been involved with._

You let the questions and tension roll off of you, deciding you were going to try and enjoy your odd evening; the three of you journeyed to the previously-mentioned private table, and you kept close to Whiskey as you watched the other attendees milling around until the lights went down, indicating that the evening’s performance was about to begin. Truthfully, you were excited to get to see a show — you loved performing, but you also loved getting to be part of the crowd that someone performed for.

You were quickly enamored with the incredibly talented performance you witnessed; your drink had been abandoned on the table as you kept your focus on the stage, and you barely even noticed Whiskey’s calloused hands exploring the accessible parts of your body. Your attention was brought back to the man at your side when he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek; you turned towards him and gave him a quick kiss on the lips in response.

“We’ll be back in just a moment, sweetheart.” Whiskey whispered, and you nodded in understanding before returning your focus to show. He gave your thigh a quick squeeze before the two men disappeared into the darkness behind you, leaving you here alone — and yet you didn’t feel nervous, as you were enjoying yourself too much for any other emotion to overpower it in this moment.

However, Whiskey’s departure seemed to stretch on for quite a while — longer than you had anticipated — and you found yourself missing his company. He had said this was a date, and yet he left in the middle of it? Your painted nails drummed on the table as you tried to determine just how long he had been gone; and as you were doing mental calculations, a gentleman unexpectedly arrived at your table. “Excuse the interruption, ma’am, but you are here with a Mr Whiskey, correct?” He asked, speaking lowly so as not to disturb the rest of the audience.

You nodded, suddenly feeling much more worried that something was wrong — and you weren’t at all put at ease when the man asked you to follow him. You grabbed your small evening bag and trailed along behind the large man nervously, following him as he guided you up to the top floor of the theater; it was dark and all too quiet up here. You were starting to feel a bit wary, and the feeling creeping its way up your spine only grew as the man gestured for you to follow him out a service door… and onto the roof.

You took a step back, heart racing nervously as you understood that this man had no good intentions, and certainly no intentions of returning you to your companion. Thinking quickly, you tried to put together a response that you hoped would allow the situation to resolve without much of a struggle. “I think I’ll just wait for him at my table, thank you—“

The large man cut you off abruptly as he grabbed your arm with a bruising force and hauled you through the wooden doorframe; you kicked and swung your limbs out wildly, trying to extricate yourself from the man’s grasp, but even for all of the blows that you landed against him, it was to no avail — it was like swinging on a brick wall, and yet you kept swinging, not one for giving up easily. The roof was just barely illuminated by the light of the marquee, but the positioning caused fearful shadows to spring up, and the cool breeze that you had enjoyed earlier now felt incredibly threatening. As you continued to try and fight against your captor, you prayed that Whiskey would somehow be able to find you before anything terrible happened.

_Whiskey promised he would take care of you. You trusted that promise._

Eyes scanning rapidly for any possible weapon or escape route, you observed that there was another man waiting on the theater’s rooftop; and although there was little light with which to see, he looked mean, cold, calculating; there was a dangerous look in his eye that made the fear that had churned in your gut, rise up your throat, burning its way through you. The man stared on at your flailing form with disdain. “Be careful, songbird, or you might rip that pretty new dress.”

Hearing the threatening, unfamiliar man calling you _songbird_ made the corners of your vision go red with rage. _Whiskey’s the only one who gets to call you that._ “I’ll tell you what I’ll rip, motherfucker, I’ll rip your fucking kneecaps out,” you spit at the man, as you tried to lunge towards him; but the iron grasp on your arm kept you from getting too close to the man who had taken your name in vain.

The man _tsk’ed_ at you disapprovingly, and your lips curled up into a snarl. “What an unfortunate mouth on such a pretty frame.” He sighed, before continuing in a casual, conversational tone. “Now, songbird, I don’t have any intention to hurt you — in fact, I’d prefer to avoid that if at all possible. But you see, I needed to draw Whiskey and his friend up here for a chat, and I knew he wouldn’t come willingly. I have faith he’ll manage to find us up here, and once I’ve handled my business with him, you’ll be free to go.”

Your heart was racing like the same jet engines that had brought you here to Paris; you had been afraid while flying over the Atlantic, but that couldn’t compare to the visceral fear you were experiencing at this moment — not just for yourself, but also for Whiskey, as you didn’t trust that this man’s _business_ was anything good. You didn’t know what kind of chaos you had gotten yourself into, but your survival instinct was strong, and you weren’t going to let Whiskey end up hurt, either.

Three pairs of eyes suddenly turned towards the unexpected sound that came from the same dooryou had just been hauled through; looking on, you saw that the heavy wooden door had been broken clean off its hinges, and Whiskey was quickly moving in your direction with a fierce and terrifying look in his eyes. Your heart soared as you saw that he was unhurt, and had found youhere — you didn’t know much about the man, but you had always trusted him to take care of you. _That’s what he had promised, and he’d made good on every promise so far._

The cold man watched on with shocking indifference, before raising a thin hand to halt Whiskey and Eggsy’s advances. “Tread lightly, gentlemen. Wouldn’t want someone to end up getting hurt.” Evil eyes landed on you, and you felt the burly man’s grip on your arms tighten even more, and you couldn’t help but cry out in pain as the pressure increased, nearly coming to a breaking point.

Whiskey came to a screeching halt, his desperately worried eyes locking with yours; you could see the concern and rage that was storming in him, and the calculations that he was making as he tried to figure out the best way to keep you safe. You watched him stare down at… _your shoes_? You wondered what he was getting at — and then his eyebrow just barely twitched upwards, so subtly that you nearly missed it, and _now_ you understood. You were wearing a pair of nastily thin and pointed stilettos, ones that would certainly hurt if you were to… _misstep_. You were a bit upset that you hadn’t come up with the simplistic and brilliant strategy yourself.

Taking a breath to steady your frayed nerves, you nodded almost imperceptibly to Whiskey, before raising your leg up and bringing it down with the force of your full body weight, down onto the foot of the man that was holding you captive. His grip on you loosened reflexively as he writhed in pain, and you were able to pull yourself away, before running desperately towards the two men who had come to save you. Adrenaline coursing through you like wildfire, your legs moved faster than they ever had before — and you would later be incredibly impressed and grateful that you managed to stay upright despite the extreme height of the heels.

You heard a loud bang right as you crashed into Whiskey’s chest and waiting arms; _you understood that was the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot, but who had it been aimed at?_ Taking in the dramatic scene around you, you watched the man who had held you captive grab his thigh and scream out in pain for a second time; looking over, you saw that Eggsy was holding the gun that had incapacitated the large, mountainous henchman. Whiskey kissed your forehead quickly before pushing you behind him, shielding you and protecting you. Finally safe, you tried to catch your breath while you watched the scene continue to unfold; you watched Whiskey grab the whip that was concealed by his black tuxedo jacket. You heard the distinct crack of it breaking the sound barrier, but in addition to the intimidating sound, you also saw that it was glowing, almost as if it were charged with electricity — _what the fuck was happening, who was this man?_

You watched the whip come to wrap itself around the cruel-looking man who had ordered your kidnapping; the electric current coursing through the whip ran through his body, and he collapsed to the ground, gasping and twitching. Both men had been incapacitated, and you watched Whiskey nod to Eggsy before he turned around to face you. His hands pulled your waist into him, arms wrapping securely around you as he buried his head against your neck. “Are you alright, songbird?” He asked, his voice sounding strained and choked with concern for you.

You nodded against him, trying to confirm this fact to the both of you; _you were safe, he was safe, that’s all that mattered._ He sighed in relief and you could feel some small measure of tension leave his body; he turned his head back to Eggsy, before asking a tense question. “Do you think you can handle cleaning up this mess?”

Eggsy nodded. “I’ve got it from here. Take care of your girl.”

At Eggsy’s words, Whiskey made his way to take you away from this awful rooftop, keeping you as close to him as physically possible. Your mind was still reeling as he guided you down the stairs, through the lobby, and out to the sidewalk that was still illuminated by the marquee, passers-by having no idea as to what had just transpired above them. Whiskey leaned down to kiss you, his hands coming to rest on either side of your face, cradling it tenderly; and you leaned into the familiar feeling of him, finally feeling safe again as you were here, in his arms, away from all of the chaos above.

The same black Range Rover was waiting for you just a few steps away; Whiskey pulled away from the kiss and guided you towards the vehicle. “Promised I’d take care of you, sweetheart. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep that promise tonight — but I’ll make good on another one. Let’s get to that hotel.”

You nodded gratefully and climbed into the waiting car as he held the door open for you. He quickly settled into the seat by your side, and the car took off at a rapid pace that pulled your body back into the leather seat. Whiskey moved closer to you, his hands reaching out gently and with trepidation as he took hold of your wrists. He guided your arms away from your body, his eyes scanning over you to find the quickly-darkening bruises that littered your skin. He ran his thumbs over the tender marks with a surprising gentleness, exhaling sadly. “Oh songbird, I’m so sorry. Is... Is this the worst of it? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

You shook your head, answering his question; you were relieved that this truly was the worst. You had been roughed up worse before. Bruises didn’t hold a candle to the broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder; and while you were usually one for a barbed, stinging response, you could tell from the look in Whiskey’s eyes that _this was not the time or the place_. He was worried about you, he cared about you —so maybe you shouldn’t seek to break that down. However, you still had plenty of questions to ask; the number one being, what the _fuck?_

“Care to explain what happened?” You asked, a nervous edge to your voice. “Why someone tried to kidnap me, why you have an _electric whip_ , why you brought me here in the first place?” Your words tumbled forward from your lips, racing forward from you, uncontrolled and unrestrained. 

Whiskey sighed, dragging his hand across his face. He was quiet for a moment before offering a carefully worded answer. “I’m what’s called a Statesman. It’s like — like the secret service, but more secret, and with some different… intentions. The man who you saw tonight was an assassin that had been on quite a bloody political rampage; Eggsy had been instructed to bring him in, and when Kingsman heard I’d be in Paris, they asked for my help.”

Whiskey took a deep breath before continuing. “I had no intentions of bringing you into this part of my life, songbird. I thought we could handle the job quickly without disturbing you; but we had been fed bad intel, and by the time we figured it out, you were gone.”

You nodded slowly, trying to wrap your head around all of this information.

“If you don’t feel safe staying with me — if you want to go home — I understand that.” Whiskey said sadly. The resignation in his voice pulled at something in your heart, and your words came forth before you even understood the gravity of them.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Whiskey.” You leaned in to kiss him, moving your body against his despite the awkward positioning of the seat. He grinned into your kiss, and you couldn’t help but radiate the same smile back at him. This evening had been a terrifying whirlwind, but that whirlwind had also brought you more excitement and adoration than you had ever experienced before — and you weren’t ready to go back to a dull and desolate life, not now that you had seen just how exhilarating life could be.

The car came to a stop in front of a beautiful marble hotel. Whiskey stepped out of the vehicle before you, coming around the side to open your door and guide you out, ever the gentleman. The two of you stood on the sidewalk for a moment, bodies pressed together as you gazed at one another, loving the way that the golden lights illuminated the scene that could’ve been the cover of a romance novel.

“My name,” Whiskey started, taking a shallow, nervous breath. “My name is Jack. Jack Daniels. Whiskey is a code name, assigned to me by the Statesman.”

Your heart leapt in your chest as the mysterious man shared a previously-concealed piece of himself; you leaned upwards to kiss him, smiling as your hand came up to tangle into his still-coiffed hair, deepening the kiss. “How about we go make a mess of that penthouse suite, Jack?” You asked mischievously, pulling him towards the revolving door of the hotel. He followed you willingly with a wide grin, and as you stepped into the beautiful, ornate lobby, his pace overtook yours and he guided you along to the elevator that was waiting for you.

After he pushed the opalescent button to take the two of you to the top floor, he turned his attention back to you. Your back was quickly pressed up against the cold elevator wall, Jack’s arms wrapped around your waist; hands moving in opposite directions, one hand made its way up to your hair, another down to grab your ass. He kissed you hotly, tongue delving into your mouth with a blazing ferocity, before moving down to begin biting and nipping at your neck as you whined beneath him. “Always felt a bit claustrophobic in elevators, but if this is what they’re like with you —“ You sighed, pulling his body closer in towards yours, before you were cut off by his lips landing on yours once again. You bit down on his lower lip gently, before reprimanding him. “It’s not nice to cut a lady off when she’s speaking,” you teased.

The door to the elevator opened and the two of you stumbled into the hallway, still keeping your bodies pressed together; having managed to successfully walk in your heels all night, this was apparently the time in which your luck would run out, as you fell into Jack — but his reflexes were impressively quick, and he caught you, before dipping you lower and placing a hot, open-mouthed kiss on your neck, his teeth barely scraping against your soft skin. A small, needy sound escaped from your mouth as Jack guided you back into an upright and stable position.

You allowed him to navigate the way to your suite, although you grew a bit impatient as he moved to unlock the door — you had been waiting for him all day, had been waiting since the motel shower, and you were desperately ready to be alone with him. The door finally swung open, and you stepped into what was certainly the most lavish and beautiful room you had ever seen in your life — but you were dead-set on another priority. You could admire the room in all its splendor in the morning.

Right now, you had an outrageous amount of adrenaline and desire coursing through you, burning like a flame on gasoline; as soon as the door closed behind you, you stepped out of your tall heels and began pulling at the dress, needing to extricate yourself from the delicate fabric and tangle yourself with Jack Daniels.

“Mind the dress, sweetheart. You look so pretty in it, wouldn’t want it to end up torn,” Jack said, before his hands found the hooks that had kept the wispy and fragile garment in place. He deftly undid the clasps and you stepped out of the dress with ease, and you loved the way that he groaned in response to see that you were completely naked now that your singular garment had been removed. You preened a bit at the response you were able to coax from this man, on sight alone.

You wanted to pull off every piece of that gorgeous tuxedo he was wearing, but you decided to resist the initial temptation for now in order to build the suspense and desire even higher; seeing the massive, plush bed, you strolled over towards it, knowing that Jack’s eyes followed your every step. You climbed onto the bed that was somehow the most incredibly soft and exquisite thing you had ever felt; you rolled across it, stretching your completely bare body across it, sighing contentedly at the comfort that it offered.

Jack’s tie, jacket, and belt had already been removed by the time he made it over to the bed that you were resting on; his eyes never left your body, and you never felt a second of insecurity or doubt. You grinned up at him, loving the eagerness that he displayed, both with his removal of clothing, and with the way that his cock strained against the flat front of the black pants he was unfortunately still wearing. You had been thinking of this moment, of this reunion, since you were seated on the plane and prodding him playfully about the Mile High club. That seemed as if it was a lifetime ago, and your body seemed to be convinced of that as well.

You sat up on your knees at the edge of the bed, hands coming to undo the shirt buttons that were standing between you and the contact you had been craving all day — and as you worked at the buttons, Whiskey worked to extricate himself from his pants and his underwear. You slid the undone shirt off of him, and admired the sight of the man standing before you — muscled, toned, and gorgeously erect for you. And tonight, you had seen his strength and power on display, the defensiveness and protectiveness stirring up something primal and animalistic in you.

You pulled his incredible body into yours, the two of you tumbling onto the bed; rolling across the pillowy surface, you found yourself atop him, and your hand quickly found its way to his throbbing erection, needing to feel his desire for you. Jack groaned as he thrust himself forward into your touch, and loving the response you had been given, you brought your mouth down to take the impressive length of him into the enveloping heat of your mouth and throat.

Jack’s hips thrust forward as you felt his cock twitch in your mouth; you rolled your tongue around him, tasting his precum, and humming contentedly as the heroic and dangerous Statesman came undone beneath you. You slid up and down his throbbing, veined length, working to open yourself further for him in the way that you had wanted to all day. You allowed him to grab a fistful of your hair, using the grip to guide the pace of your mouth moving against him; although you didn’t want to admit it, you loved the tension and tugging sensation on your scalp, and loved the display of control that he showed. You trusted him to take that control, to bring both of your bodies the pleasure that you were craving. His increasingly rigid grip also allowed for him to pull your dripping mouth away with a slick _pop_ as he laid back on the bed, gasping as he tried to catch his breath. “Bring that pretty pussy up here, sweetheart,” He groaned, his head nodding towards you.

You supposed you could honor _this_ request. He had saved your life, after all.

Your thighs came the rest on either side of Jack’s face, and his strong hands wrapped around the bend of your thighs where they met your hips, and he abruptly pulled you downward and onto his face. You gasped as he licked a hot line through your center, tongue rolling through you, tasting the wetness that had been steadily soaking you since you stepped into the elevator. Your eyes reflexively rolled back into your head as his tongue flicked against your clit repeatedly and flawlessly, almost as if he had been programmed to know your every desire and need. You cried out around him as he continued to keep his mouth on your center, alternating between dipping his tongue further into you and drawing pressured circles into the collection of sensitive nerves; your hips rocked against him, and the added friction of the mustache was incredible in a way that couldn’t be described. You felt your hips dragging across his face, needing more stimulation and pressure; for a moment you worried that you might hurt him, but as you felt his nose nudge against you in the most _blissful_ way, you reminded yourself of something — he was a grown-ass man, he could tell you if something was wrong, he would be just fine.

You were rapidly approaching your peak, and Jack knew it as your hips started to twitch and jerk against him in irregular and desperate rhythms. Your heartbeat was echoing through your whole body, steadily pumping waves of perfect, incredible heat to every inch of you. “Sing for me songbird, let me hear you cum for me,” Jack’s voice sounded rough and needy underneath you, and at his explicit instruction you felt the familiar and much-needed wave of heat and pleasure crash around you; _maybe you did like being told what to do, sometimes_.

Your mind went white-hot, vision blurring, as your whole body shook and convulsed above Jack and you could feel the way he grinned into you; you rode out the waves of pleasure that licked along your body and soothed your previously-tensed muscles, as Jack cleaned away the wetness that had gushed onto him with your orgasm. The way he hummed underneath you, as he tasted you, made you shiver with stimulation and adoration.

Exhausted and content, you pulled away from him and relaxed into the comfort of the bed as you laid next to Jack, your breathing and heart rate still rapid and unsteady. He rolled over on top of you, and you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance as he kissed you passionately. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and the sensuality of the taste on the same mouth that had just given you the release you needed, made you feel the need to take care of _him_ , just as he had continually taken care of you.

“Lay back, cowboy,” you instructed him, your voice slow and soft as velvet. He obliged and reclined against the pillows, a curious and intrigued look on his face as he watched your body move against him. Turning your back towards him, you guided the tip of his cock into the tight, wet heat of your pussy, until you were sitting back on it entirely. The sheer size of him and the feeling of him stretching through you caused you to groan out in pleasure, a sound that was echoed even more loudly by the man underneath you. You brought yourself back up from the seated position, loving the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you as you moved, before you sat back down again— this time with a bit more force. He grunted and groaned, as his hands came to rest on your ass — which he happened to have the perfect view of, as you settled into a steady rhythm of riding him. “What a perfect fucking ass, songbird — beautiful like every inch of you, Christ, I fucking love watching you sit back on my cock, being such a sweet girl for me — _fuck,_ baby, keep riding me like that.”

Unable to avoid the temptation of the joke, you continued to roll your hips against him as you felt a laugh and a joke rising through you. “Save a horse… Ride a cowboy.” You laughed at your own joke, knowing that it was silly but still enjoying the moment of amusement.

Jack laughed underneath you, before a massive, strong hand came down to crack against your bouncing ass. You squirmed in pleasure at the sensation, and began to pick up your pace, trying to encourage him to do it _again_ — and to Jack’s credit, he was a quick learner and responded well to your cues. His hand came down against you again, and again, and _again_ ; and with each blistering smack that landed, you continued to ride him harder and faster. “What a sweet, perfect fucking pussy — you take my cock so well, sweetheart, I want to live right here inside of you — want to feel you like this every goddamn day, fuck — want you to feel my handprint on this sweet ass tomorrow, want you to think of me fucking you whenever you sit down —“

Whiskey groaned as you snapped your hips against him, loving the filthy words that rained down on you just as his hand had; your hand came down beneath you to gently squeeze his balls, and the sound that escaped from him almost sounded as if he had been punched in the chest. “Yes, songbird, yes, _please_ — I’m going to fill that tight little pussy with cum, going to watch it drip out of you — _fuck_ ,” he hissed, his body growing impossibly tense beneath you. “Fuck, just like that sweetheart, you’re doing so well — make me cum for you, songbird —“

With a stuttered roar, you felt Jack’s cock twitching inside of you, as he filled the tight heat of you with his cum; you couldn’t help but hum in content as you felt him coating your soaking, tight walls. You slowed down your pace as he came undone within you, filling you entirely until he had to regretfully pull you away as he whined with the overstimulation. His spent cock sliding out of you, you could feel a warm wetness slowly dripping down your aching legs. Pulling your exhausted bodies together, he cradled you against his chest with a surprising tenderness as you laid against him and listened to the racing pace of both of your hearts. He planted soft kisses all over your body, whatever he could reach, and you relaxed further into the warm, inviting comfort of him and the bed you had wrecked with passion. He burned and relaxed you better than any top shelf whiskey; and you’d choose _your_ Whiskey, your Jack Daniels, any day.

“My perfect little star,” Jack sighed into you. “Brightest in the sky.”

The two of you laid there for a while, bodies and spirits coming back down to a restful state. You were surprised by the contentedness that you felt in this moment; and while a piece of you was scared to trust it, to trust the mysterious and complex Jack Daniels, you threw yourself into it anyway - for hell or high water, you’d enjoy whatever this life brought you. And for tonight, that included Jack Daniels.

“Eiffel Tower tomorrow?” you asked curiously, already daydreaming of your next adventure.

“I’m not a man who’s particularly inclined to share, songbird.”

The two of you fell apart with laughter, the joy echoing through the flowered, gilded walls; you had a feeling you’d be laughing and burning together for quite a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me on Tumblr at dirty-holy-things.

**Author's Note:**

> Connect with me on Tumblr at dirty-holy-things.


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